The Visage of War
by The Skye Skye
Summary: Oh John, part of you has always loved the feeling of killing a man. The only reason you feel for Holmes is because he's held you captive for so long. Come fall into my dark world again John, and this time do it for real. Sequel to Persistence of Memory.
1. Six Months Later, A Heist!

_**Hello my dear readers! This is important! If you haven't read the first story "The Persistence of Memory", you may find yourself incredibly confused. So I suggest if you haven't read that, stop what you're doing, go to my page, and check that one out first! For those of you who did read that, welcome back! Here is the first chapter for this sequel. It's unbeta'd just like everything else I write, so if you catch something, you are totally allowed to let me know and I'll fix it when I get the chance. Thank you all for being so faithful to the previous series and I really hope you enjoy this! Please don't forget to review and let me know what you think!**_

**The Visage of War**

**Chapter One**

**Six Months Later, A Heist!**

John's nose was buried in a newspaper as he did his best to ignore the bizarre bird-like sounds that Sherlock was playing over and over from the kitchen behind him. He could have asked the other man what he was doing, but frankly, he just couldn't be bothered anymore. This was a normal afternoon, really. Sherlock was always experimenting with something. It had been several weeks since a good case had come up, and nearly six months since Moriarty escaped. If John had known that something like that could make Sherlock even more insufferable he would have thought twice about starting a romantic relationship with him. To say the least, it wasn't going so well these days. Six months and they'd never gone beyond simple affection. Sharing a bed, a kiss, a hug. John was growing more and more impatient, not to mention beginning to wonder if Sherlock was even capable of sex at all.

Yes, if he could go back, he'd think reconsider this mucked up relationship and instead, think about getting a flat of his own and putting some space between them. He started to wonder if he'd truly learned nothing from his being kidnapped and brainwashed. Sherlock was sort of an addict when it came to thrill-seeking, and he wasn't giving up the search for Moriarty any time soon. It was endless late nights, searches of the city, interrogations of petty criminals, homeless networks, and even Mycroft. It was really a nightmare. A _six-month-long_ nightmare. John flipped the page of his newspaper and sighed.

"John? Does this sound more like a macaw or a vulture?" Sherlock inquired, and then he played the grating squawking noise again. John huffed and set his paper aside, getting up from his chair and stamping up to his bedroom. Sherlock hadn't really needed an answer, he was drawing his own conclusions, and had John answered, he would likely have not noticed. John needed some air. He needed some time away from this place and away from the bored sociopath comparing bird calls in the kitchen.

He threw on his jacket and a pair of shoes and headed out. He poked his head in the kitchen on his way down.

"I'm poppin' out for a bit. Need to stretch my legs." John announced. Sherlock gave a non-committal grunt of acknowledgement, not bothering to turn to around to look at him. His head was bowed and he was gazing through a microscope. Whatever was on the slide was obviously more interesting than John. John rolled his eyes at his... whatever Sherlock was to him these days, and headed down the stairs. He stopped at the door briefly and glanced back up the stairs to where Sherlock was and wondered how everything had gotten so mucked up. And then he remembered...

This had all started when Moriarty kidnapped him. Perhaps Sherlock had been mistaken about his feelings and was being far too stubborn to admit he'd mistaken worry and grief for love. John didn't want to believe that Sherlock could do such a thing, but he couldn't help thinking on their first conversation at Angelo's.

_I'm flattered... I consider myself married to my work... Not really my area..._

John shook his head furiously and stepped out of the flat, heading in no direction in particular. He just needed _out. _Jamming his hands into his pockets, John lowered his eyes to the pavement and walked briskly away from his flat. His feet were carrying him wherever they pleased. He was too caught up in his own thoughts to really pay attention to where he was going. His thoughts were drawn to Moriarty and their last encounter. The way Jim had tried briefly to push him away. He wondered if all that had been a clever ruse. Jim was quite the puppet master. He pulled all the proper strings to fabricate his escape with just the use of John's own phone. John gripped the cool object in his pocket and remembered when it had been returned to him. He'd already gotten a new one with a fresh number at the time and now he carried both around. The one Jim had stolen from him was sentimental more than anything and he had yet to tell Sherlock, or anyone for that matter, that he'd ever received it. And he definitely hadn't mentioned the note.

_See you around..._

_xo_

John wanted to keep it to himself and avoid any worse of an entanglement in this obsession to catch Moriarty of Sherlock's. Jim had gone deep underground. There wasn't a sign of his genius criminal antics anywhere on the planet. Sherlock's bedroom was a testament to that. John shuddered as he thought of the hundreds of newspapers scattered all over it and the pins in the walls. He'd mapped the web as best as he could, but after his escape, the trail ran cold. John couldn't help but hope that Jim stayed hidden. He had mixed feelings about the other man. On the one hand, he knew all of what happened between them was fabricated. He knew in his mind that it was sick, demented, and that Jim was a madman. Mad enough to grow addicted to having John around. Mad enough to fall in love with the John he'd created.

But inside, just the thought of Moriarty excited him. After all these months with Sherlock, still, sometimes in the dead of night while laying against the lithe form of his detective, his heart began to race at the thought of the criminal. Jim had risked it all and nearly lost everything to hold on to whatever it was that they had. John found himself wanting to talk to Jim again, sometimes. He had so many questions. He wanted to know if Jim still thought of him. It was sick, really.

It was a slippery slope to be on, John knew this. Yet he couldn't keep away from it.

John's feet stopped and he came to a halt in front of a familiar building. He looked up at the house and a flash of a memory came to him.

"_I know that you've been struggling lately, John. I think it's best if you start seeing someone..." Jim said calmly, the car pulling up before a building that had a sign out front "Haddock: Private Practice". John looked up at the building warily, his head still pounding. Everything at that moment, felt so off. He felt like a stranger to himself, and for the life of him, he couldn't remember the man beside him. _

"_Please John. You're my world, and I want to see you get better." came Jim's sweet and soft tone. John cleared his throat and nodded, slipping out of the car and jogging up to the door..._

John's legs had carried him here by muscle memory. He knew this place. There was a woman here who acted as his therapist. As he looked at the building he noted the absence of the sign. He swallowed hard and found himself ascending the front steps to go to the door. He stood there awkwardly for a moment, his hand raised as he contemplated knocking while rocking from the heels of his feet to his toes. Mind made up, his knuckles rapped at the wood. John felt the urge to turn and run, but he remained rooted to the spot. When the door opened, the dark haired woman he'd once known was standing there. Her hair was damp, fresh from a shower, and her body wrapped in mint-green satin. She looked at John in bewilderment.

"Uhm. Hi..." John said awkwardly. The woman didn't seem to know what to make of this situation. She gave John a critical and wary look that made him take a step back. "I'm... Sorry to have bothered you. I'm... Not sure why I'm here so I'll just-"

"John, wait." she interrupted sharply. John stopped and looked at her with a short of sheepishness to his eyes that made her expression and tone soften. "Come in. I'll... Make some tea."

John stepped over the threshold of the familiar building as she stepped aside to let him in. It was so strange to be here. It was like stepping into a daydream. The reception desk that had been in the front hall was gone, and proper decorations were now in place on the walls. Paintings, tables with vases of flowers, and other very normal looking things.

"Is Iris your real name, then?" John wondered aloud as she lead the way into a sitting room. She shook her head and motioned for John to have a seat.

"No. It's Irene." she explained. "Let me just put the kettle on and slip into something more presentable."

John nodded and watched her leave the room in a hurry. He looked around and thought back to all the sessions he'd had right here, in this very room. It had looked so different then. And now it looked so... domestic and comfortable. Before it had been so... Barren and clean. He swallowed uneasily and began to internally ask himself why he was even here. He pulled out his phone and looked down at the background image. Still Jim. He hadn't found the nerve to change it.

Irene returned with a tray of tea and biscuits, wearing a simple a-line black dress. Her hair was still wet, but combed properly into submission. She took a seat on the chair adjacent to John and poured them each a cup, remembering exactly how John liked it, even after all this time. John took the delicate cup from her with a soft 'Thank you'. Irene poured her own tea and straightened in her chair as she sipped it.

"So... You've remembered where I live." Irene said quietly. "I suppose I should move."

John sighed softly and shook his head, setting his tea back on the table.

"Did I seem happy...?" he asked, pausing for a bit, staring down into the tea before glancing over at her. "With Jim, I mean..."

Irene's body tensed and she looked intently at the wall past John's head.

"You did..." she answered tightly, her eyes falling to her tea as she took another sip. "But it was not real. You were drugged. Influenced... Nothing about it was real."

John leaned back against the couch with a hefty exhale. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked out the window through a small gap in the sheer curtains.

"I know..." he agreed finally, turning his eyes back to face her once more. He furrowed his brows as he looked at her, and then his eyes darted around the room. "Wait... Your assistant... Where is she?"

Irene set the up down quickly.

"She was taken from me. She wasn't just my assistant. She was my lover." Irene said coldly. She folded her arms across her chest and sucked in a small breath. "Sebastian Moran used her as... incentive for me."

John frowned and reached out to comfort her but she held up a hand, stopping him before he could touch her.

"Incentive for you to do what...?" John inquired quietly. Irene stood and stepped away from the chair, going to the window and gazing out it through the curtains.

"To betray Moriarty, and tell Sherlock that you were alive... Sebastian felt that Jim was compromising everything by keeping you and wanted you out of the picture. So he formulated a plan to have Sherlock find you. He thought that with you gone, Moriarty would snap out of it and get back to business as usual. It didn't go as planned and instead of Sherlock just getting you back, Moriarty was captured as well... Sebastian was... furious. Blamed me, of course... The mental case that he is."

Irene looked back to John with a tight lipped grimace.

"He knew that Jim would come after him if he ever escaped. So he took Kate and went into hiding. Now he's keeping her, so I keep his whereabouts secret... So long as I keep my mouth shut, Kate keeps breathing." Irene explained. "Once a month I get to speak with her over the phone."

John swallowed uneasily and shuddered at the thought.

"I... am so sorry..." he offered softly, getting up and crossing the room. He reached out and gently touched her shoulder. She flinched at first, but then relaxed, and let him give it a reassuring squeeze.

"Maybe... Maybe Sherlock and Mycroft can help her?" John offered. Irene scoffed and pushed past John, heading back to her seat.

"Mycroft can't stand me, and Sherlock hardly tolerates me any better. Why on earth would they even consider it. I'm lucky to be walking free right now." Irene bit out, crossing her legs in a huff. John frowned.

"Well it hardly seems fair of them not to help... They're partly to blame for all this in the first place." John pointed out. Irene opened her mouth to reply, but a sudden wailing of police sirens rushing past the house caught their attention. Once the sirens were out of earshot, she turned to answer John again, but a second wave of sirens stopped her yet again. And then finally, John's phone began to jingle, over and over. He was receiving several text messages in succession.

_He's back._

_SH_

_Come back to Baker Street at once._

_SH_

_Hurry John. We haven't got all day._

_SH_

_The Tower of London, the Bank of England and Pentonville prison! All broken wide open!_

_SH_

_Where have you been? _

_SH_

_Mycroft is sending a car for you. Where are you?_

_SH_

John sighed heavily.

"I... I have to go." John stammered. _He's back. _John's body was trembling with nervousness and excitement. Sherlock could only have been speaking of one person.

_Moriarty._

Irene nodded and saw John to the door. John stopped there and turned to her.

"Listen. Can... Can I come back later? I... I really want to help you if I can." John offered, feeling somewhat guilty about her situation.

"John. There's nothing you can do." she insisted, and as soon as he was out the door, she snapped it shut behind him. John headed down the steps and tapped out a reply to Sherlock with his location. As he was typing, he heard another chime, and this was not from the phone in his hand, but his old phone in his pocket. He pulled out the little device and his eyes widened as he saw he had one unread text message from a blocked number.

His heart threatened to hammer out of his chest as he opened it. John felt his legs nearly give way beneath him as he read the simple and familiar message:

_See you soon._

_xo_

_**Don't forget to review!**_


	2. This Relationship is Dysfunctional

_**Hello all! Hope you've enjoyed the fic thus-far. I know we're still at the starting gate but, I'm hoping to keep everyone interested and on the edge of their seats! I'd like to say thank you to my reviewers. You guys are awesome. Without you I'd be lost! **_

_**This chapter sort of poured out of me pretty quickly and I'm very pleased with it. I hope you all enjoy. I've had a blast writing! Don't forget to let me know what you think!**_

**The Visage of War **

**Chapter Two**

**This Relationship is Dysfunctional, at Best!**

John's heart raced as he headed back to Baker Street. His phones were in opposite pockets, but his old one felt like it was suddenly a lead brick in his trousers. The weight of it terrified him. He was struggling with whether or not he should tell Sherlock. He didn't particularly want to. He would then have to explain to his flat mate exactly why he'd kept it a secret for all these months. And if John was really going to be honest with himself about that, he wasn't really sure what all of his motivations to do so were. Mostly he didn't want to give Sherlock any sort of headway into finding Jim. Now it would seem that Jim had announced his presence wholeheartedly and in the showiest way he could have mustered. Jim was as subtle as the explosions he liked to set off.

John thought back to watching Jim work and sighed heavily. Jim took his place in the world very seriously. He spent his time reading letters, giving orders, and planning elaborate crimes. Whenever Sherlock had asked John if he remembered anything at all about Jim's operations, John had quietly denied having really been a part of them. It wasn't true, though. John had sat beside him in their bed and listened to Jim read requests aloud from potential clients. Jim had even bounced ideas off John on more than one occasion. John felt a twinge of guilt for enjoying such a thing.

The car stopped in front of his flat and the door opened for him, startling him out of his thoughts. He stepped out and noted that the Yard was already here. He let out a low groan and headed begrudgingly up the steps. He could hear Greg and Sherlock having a heated conversation in the living room and he dreaded having to enter it. As soon as he did, Sherlock stepped around Greg, cutting him off mid sentence to advance on John like a lion pouncing on a spooked gazelle.

The consulting detective sniffed the air around John and grabbed his left hand, examining it for a moment, and then spun the doctor around. He managed to pluck a long, chestnut hair off the back of his coat.

"Irene Adler." Sherlock hissed, accusingly. John sighed. He should have known Sherlock would have been able to tell what was up.

"We'll discuss this later..." Sherlock added, turning back to Greg, who appeared to be growing impatient. Greg had a few photographs in his hand and extended them to Sherlock when Sherlock motioned for them. Sherlock shoved the pictures into John's hands. John looked down upon a photograph of the case for the crown jewels, scrawled on it were the words "Get Sherlock"... And then John's heart nearly stopped altogether when he looked upon the visage of Jim Moriarty, fire hydrant raised to smash the glass.

He looked gaunt, underfed, and crazed. It was strange how John's heartstrings tugged in his chest at the sight. He felt the sudden urge to try and care for him. He was dressed down in a t-shirt and slacks, and it was so strange to look at. Jim had always dressed so classy around him. It was like looking at an estranged love from a past life. Sherlock watched John's face carefully, and John was aware of what Sherlock was doing. He was trying to deduce exactly what was taking place in not only John's head, but his heart as well. John cleared his throat.

"Get Sherlock...?" John announced curiously, looking past Sherlock, who was still examining him closely, and met Greg's gaze. Greg nodded and frowned at the back of Sherlock's head.

"Apparently so. He is our resident expert on the man, I suppose. I guess he wants to have some sort of confrontation with Sherlock, and this time in the public eye." Greg explained calmly. "He put on the crown jewels and waited for us to arrest him. Pretty much turned himself in."

Sherlock growled and spun around, pacing toward the window.

"Yes, but why? What is he trying to do?" Sherlock growled. John gave a little nervous half chuckle.

"Well it's obvious he's making a power play, Sherlock. He wouldn't turn himself in if he wasn't sure he'd get away with all this. You shouldn't buy into it." John offered, immediately regretting saying anything about it. Sherlock rounded on him with narrowed eyes.

"Yes, well, I suppose you'd know far better how his mind works than I, right John?" Sherlock snapped, his words stinging like a sharp strike from a whip. John tossed the pictures aside and headed out of the room, going up to his own bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him. Greg huffed a little and looked at Sherlock accusingly, but Sherlock was gazing out the window again, acting as if nothing had happened.

"I'll appear at his trial." Sherlock said tightly. Greg folded his arms across his chest and stared at Sherlock for a moment longer, before turning to leave.

"All right then..." Greg said calmly, picking up the photographs and heading for the stairs. "We'll send you a police escort the day of the trial."

Greg headed out the door, but as he did, he pulled out his phone and placed a call to John. John was reluctant to answer. He was sat on his bed, brooding. On his nightstand the two phones sat. He sighed and picked up the one that was ringing and answered.

"Yes, Detective Inspector?" John answered in a clipped tone.

"Moriarty wants to see you. He requested that you were informed of this. I know it might not be easy to hear this considering what he put you through. But... Should... Should you decide you want to, just... Give me a call and I'll take you." Greg explained tensely on the other end of the line. John's whole body stiffened and he took a shaky breath.

"Yeah. I... Can I go tomorrow morning?" John asked quietly. Greg sighed softly and John heard him swallow uncomfortably.

"Yes. That'll be fine. I'll come for you around nine. Be ready." Greg replied. John exhaled slowly, closing his eyes. _See you soon. _John wasn't sure what he hoped to accomplish by doing this. He felt like he was betraying Sherlock.

"All right..." John said softly. "See you then."

Greg hung up, and John set his phone aside. He could feel worry seeping into his bones, and many assaulting pangs of guilt and regret were only adding to the all over ache John was beginning to feel.

Month's he'd spent trying to get better all went out the window in mere hours and John couldn't help it. He collapsed onto his bed in a heap, closing his eyes as he curled up and took in the smell of Sherlock's shampoo on his pillow. They'd slept together in this bed last night. They'd held each other in quite companionship, and now... Now that simple gesture seemed so tiny and trivial. Months he'd tried to build a functioning relationship that never progressed. Sherlock would not let it. And now John was thinking of his memories of Jim...

_John stepped out of the car and onto the curb, pulling his coat tighter around him in the chilly night air. An unusual dusting of snow was slowly falling from the sky. He looked at the little restaurant and assumed Jim wouldn't mind if he headed inside without him. He stepped over the threshold of the bistro and into the building, surprised to find the entire place empty, the lighting low, and only one table set. John's first reaction was to assume the place was closed, but then, a host approached him from the other side of the room. _

"_Mister Moriarty?" he inquired. John nodded dumbly. The gentleman beamed at him. "Right this way. Your husband called ahead to tell you he was running a bit late and to order whatever you like." _

_John followed behind the host and took a seat, in awe of the whole situation. He saw the place was set with two candles, and was so simple and yet, incredibly romantic. His heart fluttered a little and he smiled warmly, taking the menu from the host. Jim had really outdone himself this time..._

John forced himself to push the memory aside and he hefted a sigh, trying to think of a warm and fuzzy memory he had with Sherlock. To his chagrin, all he could think of were rejected advances, insults to his intelligence, and a muttered explanation; 'I still do, you understand that John. No use wearing out the words.'

John went dead weight against the mattress and didn't bother moving when he heard his bedroom door open. The sound of it clicking shut didn't call him to turn either. It wasn't until Sherlock had crawled onto the bed beside him that John even acknowledged his presence. John scooted closer to the wall to be more accommodating to Sherlock. He did so wordlessly, and kept his back to the other man. Sherlock's forehead was pressed to the back of his skull in a gentle and personal form of affection.

"You're mad at me." Sherlock stated lowly, his breath ghosting across John's neck. John rolled his eyes and snorted.

"Bloody right I am." John curled in on himself tighter and pulled his head away from Sherlock. Sherlock crossed the small distance, his nose now at the nape of John's neck as he curled himself around the ex army doctor. John squirmed a little but soon gave up trying to escape Sherlock.

"Why?"

John gritted his teeth as every reason he'd ever been angry with Sherlock flew through his head. He forced himself to cool down and as calmly as he could, replied:

"Many reasons, Sherlock."

Sherlock sighed against the back of John's neck and John shivered a little at the tickling sensation. Sherlock wrapped an arm around John's belly and pulled them closer together.

"List them." Sherlock requested quietly. John gave a defeated groan and shook his head.

"Sherlock..." he began to protest...

"Just... Do it, John." Sherlock insisted. John took a breath.

"You know, we have been together for half a year now and..." John began, "We've never been... intimate... You hardly tell me you love me. You treat me like an idiot... _still. _Not to mention this obsession with Jim has gone on way too far! I don't want tangled up in that mess anymore... He... What he did to me was unforgivable..."

John's voice wavered as he spoke about Jim, and there was a long silence that followed his little confession. John was startled when suddenly, Sherlock was up off the bed. John heard the rustle of fabric and quickly turned around to see Sherlock popping open the buttons on his shirt. John sat up.

"What on earth are you doing?" John asked, wiping a hand over his face. Sherlock threw his shirt aside and shucked out of his shoes as he crawled back onto the bed. He straddled John's waist on his knees and took John's head into his hands.

"Sherlock now is not the time!" John protested, but he was silenced as Sherlock pressed John's head against his chest.

"I've been hesitant, John..." Sherlock whispered, running his fingers through John's hair and down the back of his neck. John sighed and closed his eyes, ignoring the awkwardness of this situation to his fullest. "I've been waiting to become intimate with you because I did not wish to take advantage of you on the... hm... Rebound. I was waiting for you to purge Moriarty from your life and to commit to me one hundred percent. But I suppose waiting to be intimate for that may have stalled the entire process of expelling him from your heart and mind. I only wished for what was best for us."

"Well bloody _communicate _that you prat! You can't just formulate ideas and plans for us without including me. A relationship is supposed to be a _partnership _and we both have to work together to- Oh for goodness sake, get off me and put your shirt on!"

John pushed Sherlock away, but Sherlock pushed back, flattening John against the bed. John opened his mouth to protest, but Sherlock's hips rolled down against his and then Sherlock's lips pressed down against his mouth. He was quickly silenced. His hands moved to grab Sherlock's hips as they kissed. It was heated, and admittedly, still a bit angry. But it made John groan in pleasure. He let Sherlock kiss him until they were dizzy from lack of oxygen. John shoved Sherlock up off of him and panted for breath, looking at him with wide eyes.

"Not... Not now Sherlock..." John insisted quietly. "I... I want to do this... But not now. Let-Lets get through the trial... And when we're on the other side of this whole... Moriarty business... We'll talk..."

Sherlock slowly backed off of John and took a deep breath, avoiding John's eyes.

"Right. Fine." Sherlock agreed hastily, stooping to pick up his shirt. He slipped it back on and John felt immediately horrible for rejecting Sherlock's advances. He knew that Sherlock had been waiting for the betterment of their relationship, but John knew he had to stand firm right now. He rose from the bed and crossed to Sherlock, buttoning the shirt for him.

"I love you, Sherlock Holmes. You're infuriating and confusing, but I love you. We will make this work." John assured him quietly. Sherlock leaned in and pecked John's lips affectionately.

"And I love you." he whispered. John smiled weakly and nodded, patting his chest.

"Good."

Sherlock straightened and took a step back, clearing his throat.

"Oh, and... How does Thai sound for dinner?" he asked. John rolled his eyes and pushed past Sherlock.

"Sounds fine." he grumbled. "I suppose you want me to go get it?"

Sherlock glanced back, watching John headed to his closet to get his coat.

"Would you?" he asked, his eyes catching the sight of John's phone... No... _Phones._ "You know they don't really care for me there."

He immediately recognized John's old phone. He'd held it plenty of times before to know it just by a glance. He'd not seen that phone since John returned from his last visit with Moriarty. He'd deduced that Moriarty had likely stolen it off him and used it in his escape plan. _Moriarty must have returned it to him... Why would John keep it... And keep it secret from me...? _He stepped closer, but stopped short as John turned toward him.

"Fine. I figure you want the usual?" John asked. Sherlock nodded, quickly sweeping out the door.

"Yes! That would be fine!" he called, not wanting John to know he'd noticed the extra phone sitting out. John grimaced at Sherlock's sudden exit and snatched up his phones on his way down the stairs and out the door.

"Be back in a bit!" he shouted, not waiting for a reply before he was out the door.

_**Don't forget to review!**_


	3. It's been like a terrible storm

_**Howdy folks, it feels like it's been ages since I updated. Just a quick note, I'm totally stumped on 'Heartbeats' right now. I'm trying to get my juices flowing for that fic but I've been totally caught up in this one, and a bunch of AU Jim/John one-offs I've been fiddling with. So my apologies to anyone who reads that. It may be a while before I update it again. Anyway, please enjoy this next chapter! I really had a blast fleshing out more of the picture of what went on in those months that John was with Jim from the first fic. Don't forget to leave me some thoughts and feedback! I love hearin' it!**_

_**Also! If you're on tumblr, I'm going to start taking ficlette requests soon just to get some more Jim/John stuff out there, and it really helps me get to know people who are into the same ship as me! So come on over, I'm Gingertiss, and there's a link on my page here. I'll be accepting requests On April 1**__**st**__**!**_

_**Now. On to fic!**_

**The Visage of War**

**Chapter Three**

**It's been like a terrible storm without you...**

John fidgeted slightly in the passenger side seat of Greg's car. They were driving in painful silence to where Moriarty was being held. It went unspoken just how much this situation bothered the Detective Inspector, and John wasn't much more comfortable with it than him. It was a dreary day, which was fitting in John's opinion, and rain sprinkled down on the cold grey city.

The morning had gone oddly. John hadn't really been able to sleep the night before and he crawled out of bed around six. He showered, and ate something in his dressing gown and pants. Sherlock had roused and bustled about the flat but said nothing to John. His mind had clearly been focused on other things, and John hadn't been in a hurry to bring attention to what he was about to do.

He'd gone up to get dressed and had found himself pulling a box from under his bed. In it were the same clothes he'd been wearing the day Mycroft's men had apprehended Moriarty and liberated John, so to speak. He'd slipped into them and found that they fit perfectly, just like they had the first time he'd put them on. Designed and tailored to him.

And then Greg arrived not long after and here they were. Driving in tense silence through the rain to a destination that was most unsavory. Upon arrival at the precinct, John found his nerves beginning to get the better of him. He was shaking as he made his way to what looked like an interrogation room. There was a plain steel table, bolted to the ground, and two plastic folding chairs. John looked at Greg nervously, before going and taking a seat at the table.

"We'll be bringing him in shortly..." Greg announced tersely, and then he left the room, snapping the door shut behind him. True to what he said, Greg brought Jim in moments later and John felt his breath catch in his throat. Jim was in plain white prison garb and shackled at his wrists and ankles. The chains rattled as he made his way to his seat, a guard at each arm. He was shoved down into his seat and John winced a little, watching the guards shuffle out. Jim looked weary, as if he hadn't slept in days, and his body looked even more gaunt and boney in person than it had on camera. Jim waited for the door to shut before cracking a grin at John who frowned deeply in response.

"It's _soooooooo_ good to see you Johnny." Jim said softly, folding his shackled hands on the table with a clack of metal on metal. Jim sat with perfect posture as if he were wearing a three-thousand dollar suit and not prison garb, but his sunken face showed he'd been having a hard time of things lately. John swallowed down a lump that had formed in his throat and shook his head at the other man. John was finding himself at a loss for words while gazing at the husk of his former... lover (for lack of a better term) and kidnapper. Jim however, had plenty to fill the empty air with, finding himself quite verbose in the presence of a man he'd missed more than he'd ever thought possible. "You're wearing the clothes I bought you. They suit you so well. How_eveeeer_, I _must _say that I miss your facial hair. It was so... hm.. endearing."

John watched Moriarty's chapped lips form every word as if he were savoring the way each syllable tasted. It was hardly any less intimidating than looking the psychopath in the eyes. Jim's eyes were dark, sallow, and purpling underneath from lack of sleep. John had never thought it possible for Jim to look so... deathly. John felt that lump forming again and this time he did his best to ignore it.

"Why did you do this, Jim? You should have... stayed hidden. You're bringing it all down around you... You were _safe._ And now Sherlock is going to stop at nothing to put you away." John scolded harshly, bringing a chuckle from Jim. It was dry and somewhat weary. Jim's face creased with a frail but genuinely amused smirk. He turned his head away from John and wiped a stray tear from the corner of his eye brought on by his little outburst of giggles.

"Me, stay hidden forever? Hardly my style..." Jim replied as he calmed himself. "I love a good show... You _know_ that John." John huffed a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, because unfortunately, he did know. He looked Jim over again and felt a mix of worry and irritation mingling in his gut. Jim was playing with fire and from the look of him, he would get burned.

"You look like death warmed ... what happened to you? Have you slept at all lately? Or _eaten _anything?" John asked critically, reaching out and feeling how boney Jim's wrist was. John blamed the physician in him for his fretting, but he knew that was an incredibly shallow excuse. Jim beamed and shifted his hands, covering John's hands with one of his own. His hands were clammy, as if he'd sweat out a fever the night before. John spotted some needle marks in the crook of Jim's left arm and he felt a pang of anger mixed with fear shoot through him. His emotions were betraying. He couldn't help but picture Jim shooting all kinds of nasty things into his body.

"Jim why are you doing this to yourself...?" John asked, gesturing to Jim's arm.

"Oh, ever the doctor, Johnny. It is so becoming." Jim purred, giving John's hand a feeble squeeze. JIm had done it to quiet his mind. He'd done it for two days straight while he planned his break ins. A night in jail had given him time to sweat it all out. It was a process that Jim would not be repeating soon. "I was just taking a play from your good friend Sherlock's play book. A... _seven percent solution_."

John sighed and started to pull his hand away, but found he couldn't. He stopped and found his thumb gently rubbing across Jim's wrist.

"Don't do it again.." John requested quietly. For some reason, it sickened John to think of JIm overdosing in a squalor drug den where no one knew how special he was. Because, like it or not John knew... Jim was like Sherlock. Jim was special. "It's a waste."

Jim gave a little half snort in response and nodded, catching John a bit off guard. He wondered if Moriarty was being serious or if he was just confirming a theory about John in his own head. John didn't have the time or the brain power to try and figure out how things worked inside Jim's head.

"Look I... I know you're going to get out of this, Jim. But by doing- By making a damn display of it? What could you possibly hope to gain by bringing all this attention to yourself?" John's eyes softened and strange hole inside him seemed to fill as Jim's expression went from gleeful to soft and warm. Though he looked like he might shatter if you tapped him too hard, Jim's eyes crinkled with a welcoming and sympathetic expression. Either he was _very _good at acting, or John was losing his mind because psychopathic criminals do _not _have a shred of warmth in them. Nothing that looks so genuine anyway...

"I wanted to see you..." Jim said softly and sincerely, squeezing John's hand again. His grip is weak, but John squeezes back while his cheeks heated with a slight blush and his brows knitted together. "I missed you. I _tried _to stay away. I tried s_o... hard. _And then... I started watching CCTV footage of you. You looked so lost. I never really saw you smile. Not even when you were with Sherlock. Tell me John, why don't you smile anymore?"

John averted his eyes from Jim's face. He should have been horrified that he was being watched by this criminal, but really, he was less upset about it than he was when Mycroft did it. John had to remind himself of what Jim had done to him, remind himself that these feelings were wrong... They were based in a false world, a non-reality.

"Jim... We can't be together. What you did to me was a sick perversion of intimacy and a complete lie." John insisted quietly, drawing his hand away. "I want you to get through this trial and disappear. For both our sake."

Jim narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, making John a bit uncomfortable. Jim was observing him in a way that Sherlock often did. He could see the other man picking him apart and diving into his mind. He was scared of what Jim would find in him just like he was with Sherlock since Moriarty had escaped. The moment Jim had escaped had proved to be the most exciting and exhilarating moment John could ever recall since his return from the war.

"So... You actually have some sort of... Feelings for me. You're _worried. _That's... More than I ever expected, to be honest John. I'm... Touched." he mused, a small smirk on his lips. John rolled his eyes and folded his arms across his chest, putting on the mask of denial he'd been practicing since the moment he began to regain his memories.

"Look, Jim, I... I remember everything that happened in the time that I was... In your custody... You know that..." John said in his calm and clinical 'doctor-voice'. "And I... I know what you did was sick, but I also know you have it in you to be better than all these crimes. There's a heart under there and I've had to deal with knowing a different side of you. Please don't... Don't take advantage of that... of _me..._ anymore."

Jim's face grew serious and he frowned a little. His eyes were solemn and a sort of humanness overtook the consulting criminal. John could hardly stand to look at Jim when he appeared so vulnerable, and rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"Jim..." John's voice was thin and beginning to crack. He didn't want to be here anymore. He felt trapped and helpless. Without Sherlock by his side he felt vulnerable and helpless against Jim, his memories of all they'd done and all they'd been through.

"I don't want to hurt you, John." he stated with a tone of absolute finality. "I did this... all of it... to show Sherlock he was up against the impossible. I wanted to show him how much power I really have and that if I want you again, I can take you with the wave of my perfectly manicured hands."

Jim's lips pulled into a plastic grin. John shuddered, hating to see that humanness leave Jim so quickly but also he was relieved that he wasn't faced with it (and all the internal conflict it brought him) anymore. He could feel his heart rate rising as he thought of Jim just _taking _him. It both excited and terrified him. He should have been far more disgusted with Moriarty than he could manage. Flashes of heated kisses in tube stations, the grasping of greedy hands at his jumpers, the biting at his flesh, the mark of ownership, being taken, being _possessed..._

He was so caught up in his memories for a moment that it startled him when John heard the clinking of Jim's shackled feet moving under the table and then suddenly, he realized why. Jim's now shoe-less foot was sliding up his inner thigh. He forced himself to remain stoney and unresponsive, but inside, a familiar animal he'd known in war, in Uni, _with Jim, _was surfacing.

"I can see it in your eyes, John darling. You're excited. Right now, you're wondering just what I will do to get you again. Your pulse is racing, your pupils dilated, and your cheeks are heating up. That shade of pink is _verrrrrry_ becoming." Jim was practically purring as his toes moved to press lightly against John's crotch, drawing a hiss of breath from John. John could feel the protest on his tongue (_Stop it. Get off me. Don't touch me. You're sick. I hate you..._), waiting to be spoken, but something in him held back.

"Have you told Sherlock about _everything _you did while with me... All the naughty little things we did in the dark?" Jim's tone was far from teasing. It was dark, husky, and dangerously serious. "Did you tell him how you helped me plan crimes... How you pulled the trigger and _killed _Jack Donaugh...?"

"He was flith!" John snapped in his own defense, but the memory came flooding back. Jim had encouraged him, he'd touched him and smiled and John let himself go. So he'd pulled the trigger and Jim's eyes had turned so wild while he laughed, his dark and sadistic chuckles blending in with the howling wind it sounded like a chorus of screams and John felt so alive...

Jim could see John's mind working, the memory surfacing and the turmoil it brought him. It just made him chuckle. The sound was like poisoned honey, dripping, deadly, but savory and sweet. John shuddered as Jim's foot slowly left him and slipped back into his shoe.

"That he was... A rapist, a thief, and an all arooooounnnnd... sleeeeeeeze... You shot him dead just like you _shot. My. Cabby._" Jim agreed. "Admit it Johnny boy... You miss it... Killing people. You can say you were 'just following orders' but... You derive pleasure from holding others lives in your hands. You're a doctor and a trained war machine. Don't you ever wonder what your life might be like had _I _reached you before Sherlock did?"

John felt himself going painfully rigid at the thought of having met Moriarty first. When he'd returned he'd felt lost, without purpose, and he missed the war. The spray of sand, blood, and screaming gunfire. Nights he would dream of his time there, about getting shot and invalided home... And he _grieved _the loss of his favorite outlet. Mycroft had seen it the moment they met. He let himself grow plain in the time before he met Sherlock. He traded his military uniform for dull civilian wear. He'd picked things like jumpers and cardigans to try and solidify it in his own mind that he was not an animal of war anymore. He was normal, useless, John H. Watson.

Sherlock had brought a sense of adventure and excitement back into his life. Some days in the beginning it was more than enough to keep him sated and happy because in comparison to his tiny flat and therapy sessions it was _amazing. _Then he'd been with Jim, and while he'd been unaware of who he really was, he'd never felt more alive than he did then... HIs cravings and desires were the same no matter how much of himself he remembered. They were subconscious, like a deep, black, tumultuous river surging through him that threatened to swallow anything that came too close to its banks. Whenever he thought back to his time with Jim, he still got goosebumps. Their relationship had been so taboo and that only seemed to add to the excitement he felt. He'd been taken against his will, and then made into something that let him be himself more freely than any war ever could have.

If John had wanted anything, he could have asked for it and Jim would have given it...

If he had met Jim first, there was no doubt in his mind that he would have been wearing Westwood and setting charges for the other man within days. Jim watched John reflect, loving how expressive the other man's face was and he sighed wistfully.

"John... Has it ever occurred to you that the only reason you're _really _so faithful to Sherlock his because he's held your attention captive for so long? You're suffering from Stock-Hollllllmessss Syndrome. And I intend to _cure_ you." Jim whispered, leaning in closer over the table. John met Jim's eyes and swallowed uneasily.

"And just how do you plan to do that?" John couldn't stop himself from asking. He felt like there was electricity in the air around them.

"I'll do whatever it takes." Jim replied, his voice barely above a whisper. John just stared into Jim's dark eyes for what felt like hours until they were interrupted by the guards and Lestrade.

"Time's up John." Greg stated, the guards bustling in and taking Jim away. Jim blew John a kiss as he was dragged away.

"See you at the trial Johnny!" he sing-songed, leaving John stunned in his wake. John couldn't move to leave right away. It was Greg's firm grip on his shoulder that encouraged him into standing up, and finally leaving.

"What'd he have to say?" Greg inquired as John headed out of the building with him. John frowned deeply and slipped into the passenger side of Greg's car while he responded rather darkly:

"Nothing I didn't already know..."

_**Don't forget to review!**_


	4. The truth is stranger

_**Hey y'all! This update is twice as long as they normally are because thar be sex ahead! It's Sherlock/John smut, toward the end there, so be-ye-warned. If you don't want to read that, you can read until it starts to go that way and then skip ahead to the end if you like. I won't be offended any. :P**_

_**Also, I'm now taking requests for any pairing in the Sherlock BBC fandom (except for John/Sherlock, due to there being a surplus of that around already) at my tumblr INDEFINITELY. They're always open so please, go on over, drop a request in my askbox or through fanmail. I'm Gingertiss.**_

_**Now! On to fic!**_

**The Visage of War**

**Chapter Four**

**Truth is stranger, and far more painful than fiction.**

We the jury find James Moriarty not guilty. And so he walked. Of course he did. John hadn't expected any different, and neither had Sherlock. It wasn't of any surprise or significance really. John tried to remain stoic during the trial, even as Jim made a face at him. When it was all over and Sherlock was released after being held in contempt, Mycroft appeared outside the courthouse to pick them up. Sherlock had been, for the first time, quick to get into his brother's car. Anything to escape the rush of media persons. John, however, needed some air, and opted to walk.

"Don't be ridiculous John. That's far too long of a walk." Sherlock hissed as the door swung open for them, Mycroft waiting inside. John shook his head.

"Then I'll walk 'til I'm tired, and catch a cab from there." John replied coolly. Sherlock looked like he might protest but Mycroft cleared his throat.

"It's fine, Sherlock. I'll have my people watching him the whole way. Besides. You and I need to discuss some things..." Mycroft cut in, receiving a snort of contempt from Sherlock. With some light coaxing, Sherlock let John be and John escaped the flurry of reporters by diving down an alley near by and cutting across to a different street. He walked for twenty minutes before he stopped and hailed himself a cab for the rest of the journey back to Baker Street. When he arrived, Sherlock wasn't about. John sighed and nodded, assuming he was still with Mycroft, and probably would be for a good deal of time.

John went up to his bedroom, feeling weary and beat down. After weeks of anticipation and tension in the flat over this trial, John was exhausted. And even though it was over, he hardly felt any better. He stripped out of his clothes, wanting to go back to bed and never wake up. He wanted so badly to simply fall into a deep sleep and be dead to the world. In pants and undershirt, he crawled into the sheets and under the duvet, closing his eyes and whimpering a little. His shoulder twinged and his leg gave an uneasy jerk. Stress was definitely getting to him. But nearly as soon as his head had hit his pillow, John was falling asleep. He was so deep under he didn't hear his old phone chime, alerting him of a text.

_Put the kettle on, Johnny. I'm coming over. xo -J_

John didn't move, didn't budge, just snored lightly in his bed. He was dreaming...

_John's lips pulled into a devious smile and he gave Jim a playful shove, only to have Jim shove him back twice as hard. In seconds they were tousling about the living room of their home, playfully rough-housing. Their rough housing turning to kissing, their shoving turning to groping. _

_"Jim..." John gasped softly as Jim's teeth worried the flesh of his collar. "Jim... Don't tease..."_

_ Jim's fingers were running lightly over the front of John's jeans. John looked down at the dark haired head of his lover and groaned a little as the gentle touch turned into a rough grab through his trousers. Jim looked up, his dark eyes sparkling with devious intent._

_ "You're gonna have to beg me, Johnny..."_

_ Johnny..._

_ Johnny...?_

John groaned a little, feeling fingers gentle carding through his hair and down over the back of his neck.

"Sh...Sherlock...?" John grumbled softly. The fingers in his hair stilled and then tugged lightly.

"Nope. Guess again." came a lilting, but quiet, Irish tone. John's eyes snapped open and he looked up to see Jim sitting on the edge of his bed, gazing down at him. Jim looked immaculate in his perfect designer suit, such a contrast to how he'd looked the last time he'd seen Jim face to face. John slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position and glared at Jim.

"Get. Out." John ground out through his still slightly sleepy haze. Jim shook his head, caressing John's cheek and leaning in to kiss him. John turned his head and Jim's lips landed on his jaw instead. John felt Jim's soft lips curl into a smile against him and hot breath puffed across his skin as Jim laughed quietly.

"So touchy..." Jim commented, his hand slipping down John's neck to rest against his chest.

"I don't want you here. Sherlock could come back at any time and I cannot account for what he might do to you should he find you here." John replied harshly.

"Nothing." Jim replied sharply, kissing John's neck lightly before pulling away to look him in the eyes. "Sherlock could walk in on you with your ankles behind your head for me and he'd do _nothing _because to do anything so pedestrian... Would just be blaaaaaaaand... _Boring._.. He wants to play along quite bad. So... _Relaaaaaaaax_ Johnny... Let me... Get reacquainted."

Jim pushed John back down against the sheets, and was startled by his own compliance. He grimaced as what Moriarty said sank in. It was probably true, and that made John's stomach twist uncomfortably. Jim was pushing John over a bit on the bed and kicking off his shoes to slip into the sheets beside him. John shuddered in slightly repulsion as Jim snuggled up against him and laid his head on John's chest. His arm was around John's waist, holding him close. It all felt so familiar, so strangely warm and comfortable. John felt like he was betraying everything his instincts told him to do and everything he and Sherlock had together with such a simple act as letting Jim cuddle him. Jim inhaled deeply through his nose and let out a little sigh.

"Oh how I missed you, John darling." Jim whispered softly, running his fingers over a patch of exposed skin at John's hip, making the man stiffen at the tickling sensation it caused him.

"The feeling is less than mutual." John snapped, wanting to push Jim away.

"What were you dreaming about...?" Jim hummed, ignoring John's harsh words as if they'd never left his mouth.

"What do you mean? I wasn't-"

"Don't lie... It's so very dull... What was your dream about?" Jim shifted and nuzzled lower on John's stomach. John sighed heavily. "And tell the truth. I'll know if you're lying."

John looked over to his phones on the nightstand and wondered if he could text for help without Jim noticing.

"Stop thinking of texting Sherlock. C'mon Johnny. The sooner you talk to me the sooner I'll be out of your hair." Jim commanded lightly. John huffed and shook his head. He looked down at Jim and found he couldn't resist letting his fingers fall to play in the hair at the nape of Jim's neck.

"I was dreaming about the time Sebastian caught us shagging..." John replied softly. "How it started as a bit of rough housing while he went to get our dinner... You... nudged me and I pushed you... And then..."

Jim's breath caught in his throat and John stopped, looking down at the other man who'd gone impossibly still. As Jim exhaled he relaxed his body. The room was quiet for a long stretch. John reflected on his memories, his dream, the feel of Jim against him. The familiarity alone was enough to drive him made.

"I..." Jim finally broke the silence, "Had almost forgotten about that."

John looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully and shook his head.

"Jim..." he warned softly, and Jim seemed to know what John wanted to say. _You should go... _hung silently in the air.

"Just a moment longer, John... Sherlock is going to have you all night tonight, and I just want my moment before you're in his arms again..." Jim whispered, his voice thick and slightly pained. John rubbed Jim's back gently, feeling the warmth of the other man through the layers of expensive fabric. Jim got up a moment later and John didn't move. He watched Jim slip his shoes back on and stand up, straightening his suit with a deep and even breath.

"I'll be texting you... I'd like it if you could manage a reply now and again, I am paying for your plan after all." Jim said in a smooth and aloof manner, picking invisible lint off his jacket. John looked at the clean lines of the suit and nodded.

"I s'pose I could..." John said softly. "But don't expect anything to come of it. I'm... Not yours anymore."

Jim chuckled and shook his head, looking over his shoulder at John as he swept toward the bedroom door.

"But you will be again... I know you John Watson. I know how your mind works, and Sherlock does too. He know what lurks in you and he's done all he could to suppress what he knows to be your nature. I'll pull the wool off your eyes yet, my unfashionable army doctor... You'll see soon enough that I'll stop at nothing to win you over and show you my light..." Jim's voice was taunting and intentionally over-dramatic and John couldn't help but laugh a little.

"You sound ridiculous." John stated with a lopsided grin. He'd feel guilty about this whole encounter later, but as Jim spoke, an idea sparked in John. "But... Maybe we can come to an agreement. You say you'll do anything? I've got something you can do..."

The door of the flat swinging open and the sound of Sherlock calling out cut their conversation immediately short.

"John? Are you in?"

Jim grinned.

"I suppose I must be off. Text me, darling." Jim said with a wink, and then he padded down the stairs just as Sherlock stepped into the living room, not even catching a glimpse of the consulting criminal out of the corner of his eye. It wasn't until he heard the flat door open and shut again that Sherlock realized someone had been in. He immediately deduced, as he saw John's coat slung over his chair, that it had been Moriarty. He quickly rushed up the stairs, panic making the blood in his veins run impossibly cold.

"John! John!" Sherlock called, flinging the bedroom door open.

"Yes I'm here Sherlock, calm down." John urged, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. John had hidden his phone away between the mattress and box spring and placed it on silent before Sherlock had busted in. He hoped that the detective wouldn't notice. Sherlock was at him in an instant, kneeling in front of John and grabbing his arms and face as he examined him thoroughly.

"He was here. He didn't hurt you did he? You're not harmed?" Sherlock demanded, frantically pushing John's shirt up to examine him further.

"Sherlock..."

"I _swear_ if he's harmed you I'll..."

"Sherlock..."

"How _dare_ he come into this flat and..."

_ "Sherlock!"_

Sherlock's head snapped up, his black curls bouncing a bit at the sudden movement. John leaned down and kissed Sherlock softly, but insistent. Sherlock melted immediately and his frantic hands relaxed and fell to the mattress on either side of John's legs. When they parted John pet Sherlock's hair.

"You've been gone hours..." John commented softly, glancing at the darkening sky through a gap in his shades. Sherlock nodded weakly, letting John push his coat off his shoulders and slowly pull his scarf off as well. As they hit the floor, Sherlock leaned forward, pressing his forehead against John's cotton covered sternum.

"Mycroft was... _lecturing_ me..." he said bitterly, inhaling deeply through his nose. "I wanted to be here, with you..." he slowly exhaled, his fingers moving to grip the sheets. John smiled softly, a pang of guilt making him ache all over. Sherlock could surely smell Jim's cologne and shampoo on his shirt at this point, and John somehow, knew that's what he was doing. After all this time with the other man, he'd learned a bit about Sherlock's observational habits.

"He didn't do anything... Just laid about..." John assured quietly, running his fingers through Sherlock's hair and down his neck, squeezing the muscles lightly. Sherlock sighed softly and shook his head, letting John slowly begin to disrobe him further. John helped him shrug out of his jacket next and then he reached down, popping open one button at a time on Sherlock's shirt. He slipped out of that too, and then John pulled his last layer off, a plain white undershirt. When his torso was bare, John was carefully kneading the muscles of Sherlock's shoulders.

"That doesn't make me feel better John." Sherlock said flatly, but they both knew he was lying. The tell tale groan of approval that came shortly after John's fingers worked loose a knot in his shoulder.

"The trial is over, Sherlock." John said softly. Sherlock slowly raised his head and looked John in the eyes, a light pink dusting his cheeks as the realization of what John meant settled in. John smiled softly and watched Sherlock slowly rise and kick off his shoes. John reached forward and grabbed Sherlock by his belt, kissing his milky white belly while he unclasping the strap of leather. He slowly slid it from the loops and kissed at Sherlock's hips next as he unbuttoned the taller man's trousers and pulled them down. Sherlock stepped out of the black fabric and John chuckled softly as he saw Sherlock had nothing underneath.

"No pants, Sherlock?" John teased quietly, running his fingers over the other man's thighs. His hair there was surprisingly light but no less coarse than any other man John had touched. _Except Jim, Jim's was soft... _John stopped that train of thought immediately and prayed that Sherlock couldn't _actually _read minds for the hundredth time since they'd first met.

"I haven't had time to do the washing yet this week. Trial got me a bit busy." Sherlock replied, his tone sharp and defensive, but John gentle kisses silenced his moodiness for the moment.

John got up onto his knees on the mattress and scooted backward, taking Sherlock by the hips and coaxing him forward onto the bed. Their lips met instinctually. This was something they were both familiar with by now. Kissing. John had never had someone who was so well learned in what he enjoyed in a kiss until he'd started kissing Sherlock. Sherlock knew how to bite, where to suck, when to pull away, when to be gentle, when to get rough. John hardly had to do much to enjoy it, and often let Sherlock take the lead. Which he did. John moaned softly into Sherlock's mouth, feeling the other man's fingers skirting shyly around the hem of his shirt. John gave him a reassuring smile and nodded against Sherlock's neck as he ducked down to kiss and suck at the pale skin he'd been aching to touch and taste all over. Sherlock gripped John's shirt and tugged it off, tossing it aside.

There was a desperateness to their movements, and John was quick to lay Sherlock out on the bed, his lips moving over every inch of Sherlock he could reach. Sherlock was panting and fighting to keep from mewling at the feel of John's slick tongue over his skin. His world was suddenly so small and intense. It was all John's tongue and lips and teeth on his nipples and hips and _oh christ! _

John's lips wrapped around Sherlock's long and slender manhood, and the heat of John's mouth around him made Sherlock shudder and buck involuntarily. The movement made John's teeth catch his shaft and the little bit of pain sent sparks of hunger flying through his body. He groaned low and hungry, his natural husky baritone shining through in every noise he made. His fingers were in John's hair and he was unable to keep himself from pushing down on the other man's head, burying John's nose in his groin. John grabbed Sherlock's hips tight and forced them down, breathing heavily through his nose. Sherlock whimpered as John pulled away and wrenched his head up.

"You'll bloody suffocate me you twat..." John warned, though there was no real venom in it. Sherlock was flushed from head to toe and seemed a bit out of sorts. It made John chuckle softly. "Just relax and let me do this..."

Sherlock nodded, his head tipping back on the pillow and his hands slipping out of John's hair to grip the duvet instead. John dipped back down and took Sherlock in his mouth again, sucking him slow and languid, careful not to hurt Sherlock at first.

"John... John your teeth... I liked that..." Sherlock said breathily, and John hummed in acknowledgement, drawing a strangled sound from the other man. John couldn't help the bit of amusement that it brought him. He took note and let his teeth catch at Sherlock, dragging across his sensitive flesh now and again. Sherlock was writhing beneath him and John held him in place while he worked him over.

"John! John... I'm... Ngh." Sherlock tried to warn John before his orgasm washed suddenly over him, sending him shuddering and moaning at the overwhelming sensation. John coughed a little as Sherlock spilled into his mouth, not able to swallow all of it. He licked away what was left from Sherlock's spent cock. Sherlock pushed at John's shoulder weakly.

"Oh god stop, it's too much..." Sherlock groaned in protest. John nodded, petting Sherlock's hip placatingly.

"You all right, then...?" John asked hoarsely, watching Sherlock lull a bit in his post-orgasm haze. Sherlock nodded weakly.

"Yeah... Yeah I'm... Fine." Sherlock replied softly, pulling John down on top of him. He winced and shivered as John's pants covered erection brushed against his spent length. Sherlock kissed John and then almost immediately pulled away.

"That... Is awful." Sherlock commented blandly, wiping at his mouth. When John realized he was speaking of the taste of Sherlock's release in his mouth, he chuckled softly and shook his head.

"You're _welcome._" John replied with a roll of his eyes. Sherlock nodded, kissing John's cheek and then jaw gingerly as if afraid to encounter the taste again.

"John... Are you going to...?" Sherlock gestured to himself and John raised a brow.

"Am I going to what, Sherlock?" he asked, not sure what the other man was getting at.

"Penetrate me." Sherlock responded. John snorted and kissed Sherlock's forehead.

"If you're alright with that... Sure..." John replied, amusement in his voice. Sherlock nodded, running his hands up and down John's back sensually.

"I am." he announced, and then he attempted to kiss John again. His nose wrinkled a bit at the lingering taste of himself, but he didn't stop this time, licking his way into John's mouth. John sighed softly and his eyes slipped shut as he indulged in the kiss. He broke away a moment later to reach into his bedside drawer and he withdrew a bottle of lubricant and a condom. He set the condom aside and slathered the lube onto his fingers.

"You best turn over, Sherlock. It'll be easier that way." John urged, watching Sherlock roll almost immediately. John propped a pillow under the other man's hips, ignoring Sherlock's slight hiss at having his still sensitive dick pressed between his stomach and the fabric. John was careful, and pressed lightly at Sherlock's hole, experimental and exploratory. Sherlock's muscles were still quite relaxed from his recent orgasm and John had no trouble slipping in one finger. He rubbed Sherlock's hip reassuringly at the slight intake of breath Sherlock made.

"How's it feel?" John asked calmly, moving the digit in and out. Sherlock made a strange, nasally noise and gripped the sheets.

"Strange..." Sherlock replied softly. "But not unpleasant..."

John smiled a little and nodded.

"Good... It's going to hurt a bit, but I'll be gentle as I can, yeah? I'm sure it's been a while since you've done this..." John said quietly, and Sherlock grunted non-committally in response. John simply smiled, beginning to tease a second finger at Sherlock's opening, and after a little bit of teasing, the muscle relaxed a bit and he pushed his finger in. Sherlock gasped and went stiff for a moment, it was uncomfortable and foreign but he didn't say anything of it. John watched Sherlock carefully, watched his muscles in his back shift and then relax again.

John worked with the two fingers, scissoring after a time, drawing a slight grunt from Sherlock, and then, he had three fingers inside the detective, and not long after, he had four. Sherlock adapted well to the stretch, his body relaxing and growing accustomed to the feeling. He was panting hard against the mattress.

"John... John I think I'm ready..." he grunted through clenched teeth. John didn't hesitate. He shimmied out of his pants while keeping his fingers still busily buried inside Sherlock. He opened the condom with his teeth and rolled it over himself, groaning a little at the feel of some proper stimulation. He'd neglected himself up to this point, and indulged himself in a little stroking. Sherlock gave a whine of disapproval at the delay and John shakily removed his fingers. Sherlock slumped a little, sighing in what sounded like relief.

"Are you... Sure, Sherlock?" John asked softly, watching the other man breath heavy into the pillow.

"John, don't be boring." Sherlock warned, and that was all the encouragement John needed to push himself into Sherlock. Sherlock gave a growl at the burn of penetration, but relaxed significantly when John stilled inside him. John gave an experimental roll of his hips and Sherlock gasped hard, pushing back toward John.

"_Move._" Sherlock commanded. John's hips began to piston immediately. He throat hard into Sherlock, his head tipped back as he gasped in lungfuls of air harshly, his throat burning. It didn't take much to work up a hard sweat, and Sherlock was moving with him, snapping back into each thrust, his muscles clinging hard at John's cock with each outward stroke he made. John watched Sherlock's back muscles shudder with each thrust and he gripped the pale man's hips so tight he was sure to bruise. He jerked his thrusts at a different angle until he found the desired result he was looking for.

"_Oh! _That! Again John!" Sherlock ordered, and John kept at the angle, his cock brushing Sherlock's prostate with each thrust. The change made his muscles burn with the extra effort it took, but damn it felt good. John lost himself in his movement, and his orgasm snuck up on him like a sudden storm. He groaned long and low, shuddering all over and hunching against Sherlock's back as he toppled over the edge into orgasm. Sherlock wedged his hand under himself as John started to go deadweight and jerked at his cock a few times, spilling for the second time as John pulled out of him. John crushed Sherlock under his solid muscled mass as he collapsed from exhaustion. John let Sherlock shove him off and he was startled when the other man was curling up against him almost immediately after John was laid out on his back.

Sherlock's head was curled into the crook of John's neck, his arm wrapped possessively around John's waist. They laid together and slowly got their breath back. It was quiet for ages, and John was content to let it stay that way. The room was dark now, and the only light was coming from the hall through the wide open door. John mentally thanked the heavens that Mrs. Hudson didn't come looking about for them...

John's thoughts of course, were interrupted.

"John?" Sherlock inquired quietly.

"Yes Sherlock?" John answered.

"I've never done that before. Not with anyone." Sherlock admitted, as though he were perplexed by his own words.

John felt another horrible wave of guilt roiling through him.

"Oh...?" John croaked, "Well... I... I hope I wasn't too bad then..."

Sherlock nuzzled closer and huffed through his nose, the air feeling cool against John's hot, damp skin.

"Did you sleep with _him_?" Sherlock asked quietly. John went stiff and wanted to yell at Sherlock for bringing Jim up at a time like this. _Not exactly pillow talk material, mate._

But he didn't yell. He told the truth.

"Yes... I did."

Sherlock nodded and kissed John's shoulder and then neck.

"I hope I wasn't too bad then." Sherlock said, mimicking John's line from moments ago. John turned his head and forced Sherlock to look at him.

"Sherlock. You were _you. _And I could never ask for more." John said firmly, kssing him softly. Sherlock hummed softly, but said nothing more. After a few minutes of silence, John realized that Sherlock had fallen asleep. Had he not napped, John might have been able to as well. But he couldn't. So he laid awake and stewed in his own guilt with Sherlock curled delicately against his side...

_**Don't forget to review!**_


	5. I shall return what was stolen from you

_**First off I'd like to say I am so so so so so sos oosososooso sorry that this has taken me so long to update. I've been very very busy of late. After my dad passed everything sort of went downhill and I haven't really been able to get back to my fics and then I got caught up in tumblr rp (captainjhw, I'm a dark!John, if anyone cares to know) and it's been INSANE and I promise I'm going to get back to updating. So, here to tide you over until the next stage of this story is done is… DUN DUNDADA! An update! It's sort of brief, but please enjoy!**_

**The Visage of War**

**Chapter Five**

**I shall return what was stolen from you.**

John pulled himself out of bed after Sherlock fell (blessedly) asleep and picked up his old phone, tapping lightly at the screen to bring it to life. He stepped out of his bedroom and looked at the time on the screen. It was well past three in the morning, but somehow he knew Jim would answer. Part of him felt like he knew Jim's behavior a little too well. He was probably expecting John's call, the bastard... He went into the living room and sat down on his chair with a heavy 'fwump', and began scrolling through his contacts to the number he needed. He stared at the contact name lit up on the screen with his thumb hovering above the touch screen, just waiting. Waiting for a voice of reason to tell him to stop, for Sherlock to wake up, for his sanity to return to him. It didn't happen. Instead he tapped the call button and lifted the device to his ear and listened as it rang out three times before a sickly sweet voice answered. Jim sounded as if he'd been woken, but he also didn't seem unhappy about that fact.

"John, darling. What is it?" Jim's sleep crackled voice filtered through the phone and John's breath caught in his throat. He wasn't sure what to say and found himself spacing out for just a moment, his mind sinking into something between a memory and a daydream for a split second. The image of Jim curled up in bed, wearing his red satin pyjamas, hair tousled, jaw covered in overnight stubble came to mind and John's heart seized in his chest, leaving him feeling a little choked and a little breathless.

"I... How... How are you?" John found himself asking in a rather awkward and weary manner, not sure why he was really asking. It was the only thing that came to mind at the time. He was still reeling from the fact that he'd been able to call the other man at all. And he was still wondering why, quietly, in the back of his mind, a small voice begged the question, 'Why John?', but John ignored it in favor of listening in as Jim laughed quietly. It was a soft and nasal sound that made John's skin prickle with goosebumps, the nerves under his skin seeming to recall every time that same laugh had been uttered behind his ear or against his lips or under his chin.

"Not gonna ask what I'm wearing?" Jim teased, his tone a long, drawling, Irish sonnet in John's ears. "I'm sleepy, Johnny... What is it?"

There was a familiar Moriarty-esque impatience in the end of that sentence and it struck fear down John's spine like a hot knife as part of him came back to reality. He was on the phone with a psychopath. A psychopath who had used experimental drugs and therapy to train him and brainwash him into loving him and- 

John took a deep and steadying breath, and it only shuddered right back out of him. He could hear Jim sniffing pointedly on the other end of the line, as if to hurry John along. He had called for a reason, though not likely the one Jim was expecting. Then again, Jim was quite clever, John couldn't be sure. He knew, however, that he needed to get it out and over with before he lost his nerve.

"I will... Jim... Jim I have something you can do for me... If you do this favor for me. I'll do one _**reasonable **_favor for you," John stammered through pursed lips as his fingers steadied against the arm of the sofa on which he sat. His pulse was racing and his heart hammered hard against his ribs as he heard Jim's coo of interest in response. Again, John was lost in a moment in his mind. If he closed his eyes he could have pictured it perfectly. Jim's head would slowly, fluidly, swivel to one side, his lips pouting to form an 'o' as he made that sound... That interested sound. John knew it well and it used to strike excitement into his veins, but now it was slightly unnerving.

"Oooh... John this sounds lovely. _What is it? _Need me to make someone disappear? Want me to kill an ex-girlfriend?" Jim's voice was smooth like honey, he was being intentionally juvenile, and John could tell. He didn't immediately answer Jim, just held his breath for a moment, his fingers curling into a fist against the arm of the couch.

"I don't want you to_ kill _anyone. I want you... to get Kate back... From Moran. Irene Adler's... lover... She's being held hostage by your man and I want her returned." John tried his best to sound firm but his voice was thin. He was good at being a soldier usually, good at giving orders, being harsh and militant, but he was scared of Jim for many reasons. And talking to him for any extended period of time made him backslide and feel like he did when under the influence of those drugs. He wished quietly, that he couldn't remember any of it. But then again no. If he couldn't remember there was a very good chance Jim would be tempted to take more drastic measures.

"Hmm... Could be a challenge... Moran has fallen rather far off the grid... But I always know just where to find him when I need to," Jim drew out his syllables in a contemplative tone and then sighed as if a bit bored. "All right Johnny. But in return..."

John's throat bobbed with a tight and uncomfortable swallow. Jim could ask for a number of things and John would have to say no to most of them. He didn't particularly want to back out of anything so quickly so early. Not when he could possibly help Irene out in some way. He felt a bit in her debt after all.

"You have to come see Le boheme with me... It's in town and I looooove the opera..."

John exhaled sharply in relief. That was easy enough. He wasn't the biggest fan of opera but if he could get through a date to the ballet with some of the most annoying women he'd ever wanted to shag, one night at the opera with Jim couldn't possibly be too much worse, right? That was a rather low, achievable price.

"All right, Jim. The opera it is."

Jim chuckled indulgently, as if he were enjoying hearing John's resigned tone of voice when he answered.

"All right, fantastic. I'll buy tickets."

John let out a long and quiet sigh, feeling almost exhausted from this phone call alone. He would have to really steel himself for extended time with Jim face to face. But he kept his eyes on the prize. It would be worth it if he could save this woman.

"Okay..." he muttered in defeat, listening for a while as Jim simply breathed on the other end of the line. They sat there in silence and after a few minutes John started to wonder if Jim had fallen asleep. But that wasn't the case. A strange whimpering moan from the other end made John jump.

** "Jim?"**

"_Johnny._..?"

** "What are you **_**doing**_**?"**

"What are you _wearing?_"

John wrinkled his nose and fought with the weird arousal that tugged at his groin as Jim moaned again, this time exaggeratedly loud. Jim was likely having him on, and would be laughing himself into a fit in moments. John could recall other times he'd done this and it gave him oddly mixed feelings about the whole situation. After a harsh swallow he found his voice.

"I'm hanging up." John said sharply, hearing Jim laugh on the other end as he pulled the phone away from his face and disconnected the call.


	6. We are but Villains in Company

_I know my chapters have been spread out and short these past couple of times. It's chaotic still. I was doing nano, it's the holidays, rp stuff, gosh I'm just a bum, I'm swamped. The next chapter after this one promises to be longer/better. This chapter was supposed to be longer but I didn't want to leave you guys hanging. Especially since I've been writing some hobbit stuff. Eheh. In the mean-time, enjoy this~_

**The Visage of War**

**Chapter Six**

**We are but Villains in Company**

The resounding tap of high quality dress shoes across hardwood floor echoed on for far too long. Perhaps that was just Sebastian's imagination, but it certainly seemed so. Jim had an unnerving presence, and his entrances, no matter how subtle, could send chills down the strongest man's spine. Sebastian himself was no exception to this. If Jim had taken the time to find him after all that had transpired, he was certain that the criminal's arrival didn't bode well. Sebastian had done all he could to stay under the radar, hidden away with his hostage to keep Irene quiet. Of course, something in his gut said that Jim never lost track of him. Not even for a moment over the past years. So his arrival now wasn't a surprise. Not in the least.

There he was, standing off at the end of the hall of Sebastian's safe house, dressed to the nines, looking as impeccable as ever, not a hair out of place. Sebastian was stuck, frozen in place in his bedroom doorway, socked feet feeling cold against the floor as he looked up the length of the hallway and saw Jim stopped there at the mouth in his cream suit. The cream suit was one Sebastian recalled as a bad sign. Cream was reserved for men he had no respect for, men he hated, men he wanted to squash. The fact that he was wearing it now did not bode well for Sebastian.

"I hope you don't mind," Jim mused, hands tucked into his pockets as he just stared Sebastian down, like a predator eyeing easy prey, "I let myself in."

Sebastian swallowed thickly, putting on a brave face composed of a tense smile and nervous eyes. Sebastian squared himself, shoulders straight, back like a rail, chest puffed out. Making himself bigger hardly intimidated Jim, but the sniper hadn't any idea what more he could do.

"Jim..." Sebastian uttered the name and it brought a laugh from the criminal, condescending, sharp, and it cleaved down upon the bigger man like a dull, thick ax, making him want to drop to his knees and beg for mercy. There was something inherently terrifying about Jim. He was a psychopath. There was so much method, but his madness overshadowed it. He was a viper in a well tailored suit and he was poised to strike. Poised. That was the perfect word for it. Jim didn't seem at all effected as Sebastian puffed up like a large cat that's been threatened.

"Surprised you remember my name, you've been hiding away from me for so looooong... But then again, you did sell me out so I suppose you'd want to run, wouldn't you?" Jim's head swivelled, his dark eyes flicking over Sebastian without much regard for the glint of metal now occupying the well practiced, terrifyingly skilled shot.

"What do you want to do? Kill me?" Sebastian's voice held a tremor of laughter, the sort of panicked, maddened laughter of a man in a place of desperation. Jim tutted, his tongue clicking rhythmically and mocking the spat words of the other man.

"No no no... I've use for you yet. If I wanted you dead, you would be by now. And I wouldn't take the time out of my busy schedule to waste on you, Sebastian. You can be assured if ever a bullet is to go through your skull, you won't see it coming, and you certainly won't see me," Jim was hissing the words, aiming to sting, showing Sebastian he was now even farther beneath him. He didn't take well to mutiny, and he was making a point of that. "You get to live in shame and you'll never have decent work, criminal or otherwise again, save for me. I've put the word through that you're a rat. No one will touch you but me. So if you want to make a living, I suggest you give back what you've stolen."

Sebastian seemed to be having trouble keeping up with what Moriarty was saying. He was processing, and it read plainly on the scrunch of his face. He was putting it together and letting it sink in. Letting it stew. His eyes narrowed and he shook his head at Jim, drawing an angry flare of impatience up in the Irishman.

"It's not nice to take things that don't belong to you Sebastian!" Jim shouted, startling the other man into submission. Sebastian tucked his gun away and cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders thereafter.

"She's in the basement," Sebastian stated plainly, his face pulling into a sneer as Jim gave him a familiar, militant and icy stare.

"Well go fetch her, I'll be taking her back to where she belongs. I trust she isn't missing any of the bits that stick out hm? Not a hair on her head harmed, I imagine? Because you have to treat a lady with the utmost respect Mister Moran..." Jim was just taunting him now, and Sebastian turned quickly, against his better judgment away from Jim and heading for the basement to retrieve the woman in question.

She was a bit of a mess, really, when Sebastian brought her back. He cast her like a stone to Jim's feet, sneering at the consulting criminal with fire in his eyes. Fire Jim still had use for yet. The redheaded woman scrambled up and ducked behind Jim; her hand moved to cover her mouth as she sobbed gently.

"Thank you, Sebastian. I expect we'll be in touch," Jim purred, taking hold of the woman carefully around her waist as he turned his back rather confidently on the sniper and escorted her out of the building. The sky was dark, dusty grey, the overcast clouds heavy with rain that was yet to be shed, but Jim paid it no mind. It might have been the brightest, sunniest day of spring. He was smiling.

Because he'd have John all to himself for a whole evening now, just for returning this pathetic woman to her keeper.

He ushered her into the backseat with a gentle push and a very phony 'watch your head, love', glancing back at the building once, just once, and catching sight of Sebastian watching him from the doorway. His old employee was sure to want to put a knife in him by now. Maybe a bullet or two.

But that made things more interesting, and a bit more dangerous. Why not? He slipped in after Kate and tapped on the window between them and the driver, beginning the long road back to London. He was buzzing with anticipation. Soon he'd be seeing John again... Soon he'd be confronting Sebastian... Soon, soon, soon...

"The future is a brilliant thing, isn't it?" Jim mused, not looking at Kate, but out the window. She sniffled a bit and gave a cracked and broken reply.

"Wh..at?"

Jim's dark eyes slid toward her and she pressed herself against the door, trying to get away from his gaze alone. His grin was twisted up like a shark in a tank. He just laughed, chillingly so, at her, never clarifying his statement.

_Absolutely brilliant._


End file.
